Wicked Days

by Lily Harper Hart

  Jack pressed his lips together, searching for the right words to make her feel better. He had no idea what they were. “Honey, I was just messing with you,” he said. “I happen to love morels.”

  Ivy watched as he dug into the dish, her eyes wide. The mushrooms weren’t what he was expecting – they definitely didn’t taste like the ones dumped on his pizza whenever he ordered it – but they weren’t half bad. “Delicious.”

  “You’ve never eaten morels before, have you?”

  Jack considered lying and then changed his mind. “No. They’re good, though.”

  “Do you want me to make you something else?”

  “No.”

  “I … you’re only still sitting here because you don’t want to leave me alone while I’m freaking out,” Ivy said. “The least I can do is cook you something you like. The problem is, I have no idea what you like.”

  “I like pasta,” Jack said. “I like mushrooms. I like this. Please stop … doing that. If you keep this up, I’m going to start freaking out, and nobody wants to see that.”

  Ivy finally smiled, the first real one he’d seen since she threw herself into his arms on the front porch. It warmed him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. God, he really loved her face.

  Jack shook his head, jolting himself out of his melancholy. “What are you going to do when we’re done here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you going to Max’s house? Is he coming here?”

  Ivy balked. “No. I’m not calling Max. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

  Jack’s warm feelings started to shift. “You’re not staying here alone.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You are not,” Jack said. “Someone could be watching you. There are thousands of places for people to hide in these woods. You’re isolated here. If you get in trouble, I might not be able to make it out here in time to save you.”

  “Save me? I don’t need anyone to save me.”

  The way she’d raced to him earlier told him differently. He decided to change tactics. “Ivy, it’s okay to be afraid,” he said. “Someone is threatening you. You should be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “You are, honey,” Jack said. “I don’t blame you. I’m scared for you. You can’t stay here alone.”

  “Well, I am.”

  Jack growled, the sound taking both of them by surprise. He was done trying to be reasonable. “Fine. If you’re staying here, then I’m staying here with you.”

  “No way,” Ivy said. “I … no. That’s just asking for trouble.”

  Jack couldn’t argue with the sentiment, but there was no way he was leaving her to her own devices. “You’re either calling Max and having him come here, calling Max and going to his house, or finding a blanket and a pillow so I can sleep on your couch. Those are your options.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.”

  “Don’t push me on this, Ivy.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  They narrowed their eyes as they faced off, both of them refusing to back down. It was anyone’s guess who was going to win.

  “I HOPE you’re happy.”

  Ivy hurled a pillow and blanket at Jack as he moved the back cushions from the couch to the floor.

  “I’m thrilled,” Jack said, refusing to make eye contact. He was convinced if he looked into her murderous eyes he was either going to shake her or take her. One of those emotions was going to get him into trouble. He just couldn’t figure out which one.

  “I want you to know that I’m lodging a formal complaint with the police chief tomorrow,” Ivy warned.

  “I’ll be excited to read the report.”

  “I … I don’t need to be babysat.”

  “Good, because that’s not what I’m doing,” Jack said. “Quite frankly, I think those mushrooms were funky. My stomach is upset, and I’m really thankful you offered me a spot on your couch instead of risking me driving home when I have food poisoning.”

  “Are you suggesting I poisoned you with my cooking?” Ivy asked, hands on hips. Those were fighting words.

  “I’m suggesting that no force on Earth could move me from this couch tonight,” Jack said, reaching for the back of his shirt and tugging it over his head. She’d already seen the scars. There was no sense in hiding them now.

  The second Ivy saw his muscled chest she knew she was in trouble. She had to get out of this room. They were both emotionally charged. They were either going to smack each other around or roll on top of each other naked. She couldn’t tolerate either prospect. “I … .”

  Jack kept his gaze trained on the couch. “Go to sleep, Ivy.”

  “Fine,” she said. “I’m still not happy.”

  “At last you’re safe.”

  Was she? She wasn’t so sure. Every moment she spent with Jack put her one step closer to losing her heart. Losing her life was less scary.

  Twenty

  After a fitful night of tossing and turning, Ivy climbed out of bed grumpy the next morning. Her long hair was standing out in odd places, and her shorts and tank top were wrinkled. She didn’t bother to fix any of it because she thought the sight of her in the morning would be just the thing to kill any inappropriate sexual interest – at least on Jack’s part.

  Unfortunately, the sight of him shirtless as he slumbered on her couch, his face peaceful and ridiculously handsome as it pressed against her pillow, only served to ratchet up her libido.

  “Darn it,” she grumbled, moving past the couch and heading straight for the kitchen so she could make a pot of coffee.

  “Did you say something?” Jack mumbled into the pillow.

  “I can’t believe you look like that after you’ve slept for eight hours,” Ivy said, not bothering to lie. “It’s just not fair.”

  Jack opened his eyes, taking a second to focus on her as she buzzed around the kitchen and then fought to swallow his sigh. Her tiny shorts hung low on her hips and high on her thighs, making his mind swirl with fantasies about what was under them. Her tank top was simple, but it showed off her toned arms and back, and her face was devoid of makeup – but still beautiful. He even liked how her hair stood on end in places it wasn’t supposed to.

  In the harsh light of day, demanding to sleep on her couch seemed like a stupid idea.

  “What’s not fair?” he asked, rolling to a sitting position on the couch and cracking his neck. He couldn’t drag his eyes from her thighs.

  “You look like a model in the morning,” Ivy said, flipping the switch on the coffee pot. “It’s just not fair.”

  Jack chuckled. “I guess I’m supposed to take that as a compliment, huh?”

  “I’m still mad at you,” Ivy said, pushing her lower lip out. “You can take it however you want to take it. It’s not my concern.”

  She was too cute for words. Jack’s mind went to a dark place. It was incredibly hot, she was running her fingers through his hair, and … . “Um … what were you saying?”

  “What were you thinking?” Ivy asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “I wasn’t thinking anything,” Jack said, standing up and stretching. When he finished, Ivy’s eyes were keenly focused on him – or rather the spot right above his boxer shorts. “What are you thinking?”

  Ivy tugged a frustrated hand through her hair. “You don’t want to know what I was thinking.”

  “I do.”

  “No, you don’t,” Ivy said. “Trust me.”

  Sadly, Jack was dying to hear what she was thinking. He had a feeling it matched what he was thinking. He shook his head to dislodge the thought. Don’t go there! “We need to have a talk, Ivy.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” Ivy said. “I’m mad at you.”

  Adorable. That was the only word Jack could think of to describe her right now. No, that wasn’t true. He could think of a few others. Sexy. Beautiful. Breathtaking. He was seriously getting sappy. This had to stop. “What can I do to make you forg
ive me?”

  Ivy scowled at him. “Tell me you were wrong and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “You’re extremely capable,” Jack said, choosing his words carefully. “You’re … strong. That doesn’t mean I was wrong. If something were to happen to you when I knew I could protect you, I would never forgive myself.”

  “Maybe I don’t need to be protected,” Ivy said, refusing to give in. “Maybe I was the one protecting you.”

  Jack grinned, charming her despite her foul mood. “Fine. We were protecting each other.”

  “I’m going to take it, but only because I’m too tired to argue with you,” Ivy said. She pointed toward the kitchen table. “Sit down and I’ll make you some breakfast.”

  “You don’t need to cook for me,” Jack said, although he was already moving. “I did kind of force myself on you last night.”

  “Yes, but I’m still a good hostess,” Ivy said. “I have manners.”

  “Since when?”

  “Sit down.”

  Jack smirked as he sat, running his hand over his stubbled chin as he watched her pull eggs, tomatoes, cheese and onions out of the refrigerator. “So, you’re a vegetarian but not a vegan?”

  “What do you know about either?”

  “My sister is a vegan,” he replied, unruffled. “She won’t eat any cheese or eggs. She won’t even use milk to cook.”

  “That’s a little more restrictive than I can take,” Ivy said, cracking eggs into a large mixing bowl. “I don’t eat meat, but I do eat dairy products. Are you okay with an omelet?”

  “Sure,” Jack said. “I’m easy.”

  “What do you eat at your sister’s house?”

  “Nothing. Everything there tastes like feet.”

  Ivy snorted as she chopped up the tomato. “Some of the substitute products do taste a little funky.”

  “They taste like feet. Admit it.”

  “I haven’t done a lot of feet eating.”

  Jack watched her, mesmerized as she dumped the eggs into a skillet and then started folding vegetables and cheese in. For one lonely moment, he pictured them sitting here every morning, chatting over breakfast after spending the night together. It was a cozy feeling. “Why aren’t you married?”

  Ivy balked. “Excuse me? Is this your usual level of morning chatter?”

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said, shrugging. “I just … you would make some guy really happy.”

  “On the contrary, I make men miserable,” Ivy said.

  “I don’t believe that for a second,” Jack said. “You’ve got a certain way about you. Men find you charming. Don’t deny it. Brian told me every man in this town has tried to date you. He says you’re the one fighting it.”

  “Men find me charming for about a month,” Ivy said. “All of my Bohemian delights take about that long to wear off. Men like the weird girl from afar. When they actually get a chance to spend time with her they often find that they’d rather have a normal girl than put up with all the stares and whispers.”

  “I think most of that is in your head,” Jack said. “I haven’t seen anyone pointing and staring.”

  “Ava?”

  “Ava has issues of her own,” Jack said. “She’s a bitter woman. She feels she always has to be in competition. She always wants to win, even if she doesn’t really want the prize. That’s a commentary on her, not you. Ava is the type of woman who will go after anyone she deems competition. It’s not about you being different. It’s about men wanting you more than they want her.”

  Ivy’s mouth dropped open.

  “You’re going to catch flies if you’re not careful,” Jack said.

  Ivy turned back to the stove and pulled the skillet off, dividing the omelet in two and handing half of it to Jack before settling in the spot next to him at the table. Jack dug in with gusto while Ivy watched him eat. “Why aren’t you married?”

  Jack swallowed, meeting Ivy’s probing gaze. “I’m not husband material.”

  Ivy didn’t believe him. “Why?”

  “I’m a cop,” he replied. “I keep odd hours. I’m dedicated to my job. There’s always a chance I won’t come home at night.”

  “There’s a chance we all won’t come home at night,” Ivy said. “And you’re not in the city anymore. This is the first murder Shadow Lake has seen in – I can’t remember the last one. You’ll be able to keep more regular hours around here. What else do you have?”

  Jack focused on his plate, worried that if he met Ivy’s sea-blue eyes he would jump in and drown himself in their beautiful depths. “I don’t have anything to give anyone else right now,” he said. “I … am dealing with some other stuff, and a relationship takes give and take. I have nothing to give.”

  Ivy’s heart rolled sympathetically. “Okay.”

  Jack arched an eyebrow. “Okay?”

  “You’re honest,” Ivy said. “You know your own limitations. I admire that. I have the same limitations.”

  “I think you’re limiting yourself,” Jack countered. “You hide out here because you think people are looking at you a certain way. Trust me, Ivy. They’re not looking at you with anything other than marvel and envy.”

  Ivy made a face. “Thank you for saying that,” she said. “I don’t believe it for a second.”

  “WAIT! Don’t put your shirt on yet.”

  After showering and shaving with one of Ivy’s disposable lady razors (something that should have embarrassed him – and yet didn’t) Jack was readying himself to leave. Before that happened, though, he needed to have a serious discussion with Ivy – and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “Why can’t I put my shirt on?” Jack asked dryly, arching an eyebrow. “Are you ready to give in to an impulse?” He had no idea why he said it. Part of him was hoping she would say yes, though.

  Ivy rolled her eyes, her long hair damp from her own shower as she moved closer to Jack. “Sit down.”

  “Why?”

  “Sit down, please.”

  “Why?”

  “Sit down or I’m going to make you sit down,” Ivy threatened, brandishing a tube of lotion as she regarded him with a serious expression.

  “Fine,” Jack said, slouching on the armchair. “What?”

  “This is a special lotion,” Ivy said, squirting a dollop onto her hand and then transferring it over to Jack’s scars.

  He squirmed at the contact, opening his mouth to protest, but Ivy cut him off.

  “You’ll always have the scars, but this will help them fade,” she said. “Put it on in the morning after you shower and at night before you go to bed. In a month, they’ll be a lot less obvious.”

  “Maybe I want them to be obvious.” The feeling of Ivy’s fingers on his chest was driving Jack to distraction.

  “You’re scarred in here,” Ivy said, pressing her fingertips to the spot above his heart. “You don’t want them to be obvious. That’s why you didn’t want to take your shirt off the other night. You’re embarrassed, but I have no idea why.”

  “I’m not embarrassed.”

  “You are. It’s okay. You still don’t have to tell me.”

  “I … I was shot.” Jack swallowed hard.

  “I know.”

  “Don’t you want to know why?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Everyone wants to know why.”

  “You’re not ready to tell me,” Ivy said pragmatically. “When you’re ready, you’ll tell me. I won’t have to ask.”

  “That’s it? You’re just going to let it go?”

  “Yup,” Ivy said, straightening as she handed him the bottle of lotion. “I made that myself. It’s my last bottle. I’ll make more. It will be ready when you need it.”

  “You make lotion?”

  “I’m multitalented.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Jack mumbled. “I … we need to talk about the flowers.” He was running as far away from this conversation as he could get.

  “We both believe Chad left them,�
� Ivy said. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m going to go in front of a judge and see if I can get a search warrant for Chad’s compound,” Jack said. “What I want to know is if you’re going to be okay if I leave you here.”

  “I’m a big girl, Jack,” Ivy said. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t, honey,” Jack said. “I just … the world would be a worse place without you in it. Promise me you’re going to be really careful.”

  “I promise.”

  “What are you going to do today?”

  “I need to find what those symbols mean,” Ivy said. “They haunted my dreams last night. I know I’ve seen them before.”

  Jack reached over and grabbed her hand, directing her attention to him. “Don’t go out to Chad’s compound. Don’t wander around the woods alone. Drive over to the nursery. Lock yourself in this house before it gets dark. Keep your cell phone close to you in case someone tries to break in.”

  “I … .”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good,” Jack said, squeezing her hand and then letting it go. “I still believe there’s a weird happy ending out there for you. You need to live to see it, though.”

  He didn’t add that he desperately wished he could be involved in that ending. It was a moot point. He didn’t have anything to give her, and she deserved the moon, the stars, and everything in between.

  Twenty-One

  “This is pretty thin.”

  Judge Walter Cunningham looked over the documents spread out on his desk in front of him dubiously.

  “I understand that, sir,” Brian said, exhaling heavily. “It’s what we have, though, and after last night I’m not sure I feel comfortable with him running around.”

  Cunningham rolled his eyes. “We went to school together, Brian. You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’”

  “You’re a judge.”

  “Your mother once made us take a bath together because we got filthy in a mud pit after a thunderstorm,” Cunningham said.

  “We were children.”

  “We were eight,” Cunningham said. “I’m still scarred. Don’t call me sir. It bugs me.”